


Second Skin

by flesh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bestiality, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-07
Updated: 2006-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flesh/pseuds/flesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius discovers that despite constant jokes about rutting season, that James has never had sex in his animagus form. Always curious about cocks, Sirius offers to show the stag a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Skin

"Pervert," James manages at last. "You. You're a fucking _pervert_."

"Deviant too," Sirius agrees, watching the flush grow on James's cheeks, the flush he's responsible for. 

He did that. James Potter, who had preferred to go to breakfast in nothing but his briefs rather than back down from a dare, and who had had to be chased back up to his dorm to put clothes on by a wand-wielding McGonagall, is hot and bothered because of something Sirius has said.

It's an uncommon power Sirius holds over James and he knows it. He's seen how people look at him, how they want him, heard the things they say when he walks past, but James has always been oblivious to it. To James, he has been the bathroom-hogging, prone-to-tantrums boy-in-the-next-bed. 

It's more of a rush to see James fidget and wet his lips than it was to reject Lucius Malfoy and his ridiculous gifts and carefully-composed letters of seduction. 

"Yeah. And bloody _weird_. We're not doing that and I mean it."

Sirius lounges back on his bed, twirling a piece of long, black hair about his finger and relishing the weight of James's gaze on him.

"Oh come on! Even Wormtail's got off. It's just you left, and it's starting to get embarrassing. Aren't you in the least little bit curious? You've got this great big cock between your legs, don't you want to see what it feels like to use it? I could help, as a friend."

James kicks at the bedpost, biting his lip and looking for all the world like the eleven-year old Sirius remembers trying to throw him out of Gryffindor Tower window when they first met. Uncertain, and hostile because of it.

"It's disgusting, and you shouldn't even be talking about it, let alone-"

He breaks off and Sirius finishes his sentence for him with relish.

" _Offering_."

There's so much in that word, Sirius pours it all in with the sensuous slide of his tone and he sees James catch it all. There's more colour in his cheeks, creeping down his neck, and he takes a slow, deep breath. Sirius watches the rise and fall of his broad shoulders, the movement of his chest and feels his own breath come a little heavier. 

He hasn't seen James submit often, but when it happens, he knows. He keeps silent as James settles on the bed beside him, rubbing his palms awkwardly on his thighs and not meeting his eyes.

"It _is_ big, isn't it?" he admits in a small voice. 

Sirius gives him a dirty smile as a reward and brushes against him carelessly as he reaches for another cigarette, feeling the twitch of lean muscle next to him.

"Oh, Jamie, _yes_ ," he says, with a dangerous flutter of eyelashes. 

There's a choking sound of James clearing his throat while Sirius lights his cigarette. He props himself up on an elbow and glances at James, who's still red but looking more cautiously interested now than openly outraged. 

"Got nice antlers too," he comments. 

Sirius nods and takes a contented drag of his cigarette, rolling his head back to blow the smoke out where it drifts in the warm gloom of the dorm.

"Mmm, I promise to show your antlers proper attention too."

"I haven't agreed yet!" James protests. He reaches out to take the cigarette and Sirius lets him, but not without a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. James fumes and sticks the cigarette in his mouth, letting it hang on his lower lip. "Alright," he mutters. "Alright."

At such an open submission Sirius's calm almost disappears. James has agreed and somehow, even though Sirius had set his mind on it and he knows no-one can say no to him forever, he hasn't planned for the next step. 

There's a part of him that's nervous. A part that says this is too far, even for him.

However, maybe he's as depraved as his father says he is, wrong in the head too, but he wants it too. He wants James inside and out. He wants to give James this, this that no-one else would give him, that he'd never even ask for. 

No matter how dirty or wrong it is, James is coming along on the ride and together, they'll always manage to steer the safe side of Hell.

He plucks the cigarette from James's mouth and stubs it out in the saucer that's been enlisted as an ashtray. James is watching him warily when Sirius looks back at him, but there's too much shared history for Sirius to believe that the glow in his cheeks is purely embarrassment. 

The idea's caught James's mad imagination, like a leaf caught by the wind, and the cogs in his brain are turning and painting all kinds of pictures and Sirius knows he's in every one of them. 

His words come in a rush when he speaks, but from the look on James's face – hungry and tense - he doubts James even notices.

"Come on then, can't do this on the bed. We'll ruin the sheets."

James lets him move him, sliding from the bed and standing in the middle of the room, too lost in arousal to be anything other than beautifully obedient. Sirius can feel him shudder when he touches him, a jolt going through muscles tight and ready to run or fight or _fuck_.

"Jesus," he breathes as Sirius moves closer. "We're really doing this."

His gaze meets Sirius's. Brown and dark green flecks charging the hazel irises, his eyes are unguarded, asking for comfort, for the reassurance that only Sirius can give him: that whatever trouble they're in, they're in it together.

"Yes," Sirius tells him fervently. "Yes. We're doing this."

This is the first time Sirius has undressed him like this. Before, it's been when he's too drunk to do it himself, and then it was all tugging clothes off and tipping him into bed. 

Now he can take his time, unbuttoning his shirt and smoothing his hands over the tanned skin as he slides it off his shoulders. James's nipples are hard, and Sirius can't resist tweaking one, catching one of the little coppery nubs between his forefinger and thumb and rolling. He smirks when James jumps and gives a low, surprised grunt.

"I'm just trying to help you get in the mood," he insists. 

James's scowl is far from convincing and Sirius can't help the bubble of delighted laughter that wells up inside of him. If James has agreed, it means it's alright but it’s still so _dirty_ what they're going to do, and Sirius both wants to tell the world and hug the secret close to his chest. 

He lets his hands drop to the waistband of James's trousers, his knuckles skimming the warm, flat plane of James's abdomen, and he's about to start on James's flies when he realises his hands are shaking. He only realises because James places his hands on his and Sirius can feel the sudden stillness.

"Let me," he says. "You should be getting ready for the next bit. Stretching your jaw or something."

Exhaling in a small, short breath, Sirius steps back and watches James undo his trousers. There's a moment of shyness in which James's gaze drops to the floor, his fingers hesitating at the zip, and Sirius thinks he should look away.

Then James looks up at him with a rueful grin and it's gone, they're close again and five years of living virtually inside the other's skin won't let them be shy with one another.

"Guess you've seen it all before anyway," he says and drops his trousers. He shucks his underpants off without letting there be a second in which he can hesitate. He flings them haphazardly at his bed, and they fall over the side and land on his Transfiguration homework and the half-eaten apple he abandoned when Sirius first broached the topic.

James is naked and waiting, so determined not to appear embarrassed by his half-hard cock, which Sirius has only caught glimpses of before, that he's unconsciously adopted his not-backing-down stance: legs set apart and arms folded across his chest. His jaw is set, so very much Sirius's James that he's tempted to say: _can't you just fuck me? Do we have to find ways to avoid it being your skin on mine?_

Then James is gone, gone before Sirius can break their games of purely platonic regard, and Prongs is in his place.

"Gently," Sirius murmurs as the animal huffs and snorts, unsettled. 

A stag is right for James. Powerful legs, strong shoulders, fast and agile and inherently noble: it's all James. But there's still that prickle of fear that Sirius can never quite soothe. Stags, even ones with antlers as magnificent as Prongs', are prey animals. Fate knows something Sirius doesn't and he doesn't like it at all. 

It's incongruous, this large woodland animal pawing at the floor in a boys' dormitory, the sound of his hooves slamming through the hush. If someone should hear, they'd come and find Sirius with a stag in his room and his mind's a blank for what he could tell them.

Of course, as the panic recedes as quickly as it came upon him, Sirius remembers that even that memorable time that he and James accidentally reduced Peter's bed to kindling with their play-wrestling, no-one dared disturb the Marauders.

He is grateful as ever for the reputation of dangerous eccentricity that he and James have cultivated over the years. He's about to do something wickedly filthy to a stag, and he would prefer not to have an audience. This first time, at least. 

"Shh, Prongs," he whispers as he approaches the stag. "Shh, it's only me."

He never realised quite how _big_ stags were until they made the Change. Not quite as tall as a horse, Prongs is compactly built and Sirius can see, as he comes closer, the twitching of sinews and the quiver of muscles. There's not a wasted inch of flesh on the animal's body. 

Prongs doesn't shy away as Sirius lifts his hands, just watches him with large, soulful eyes that are far too serious to have James looking out of them. 

"Beautiful," Sirius breathes as he curls his fingers lightly about the tines of the gracefully curving antlers. They're still wrapped in a skin of velvet and are so soft to the touch that Sirius can't help stroking. 

His fingertips skim along the branches of damask-sheathed bone, marvelling at both the luxurious texture, and the sheer heaviness of them. It must ache for James, _Prongs_ , to carry all that weight, but as Sirius smoothes his hands down the stag's neck, onto his shoulders, he feels just how strongly built he is. Even with that curving mass of bone, the stag's strong enough to hold his head high.

The fur along the stag's side is as pleasing to the touch as any of the finery of 12, Grimmauld Place and Sirius slides his fingers through it, weaving his fingertips through its softness until that's not enough and he presses his cheek to it. 

It's warm and soothing. He can hear the roll of Prongs' heartbeat like the sea's waves and can feel the shiver of muscles as the stag paces and shifts. It's a living creature inside, alien and yet entirely familiar. It's _James_. 

How long Sirius would have stayed like that with his face pressed into the lush heat of Prongs' fur is anyone's guess. But the sudden snort that Prongs gives rumbles through him and brings him to his senses. 

"Alright, you impatient creature," he says, with a hint of amusement. "I was getting there. I wouldn't leave you needy, would I?"

There's another snort and Sirius smiles, knowing that it could be saying a million different things all with the same message.

His mouth is dry, he realises as he sinks down onto his knees. His mouth is dry and his heart is hammering in his chest like someone's set a Speed spell on it. He wets his lips and shuffles forward on his knees, ducking low to see the stag's under-belly. 

For one moment he thinks he should have studied a few zoology anatomy books before suggesting this, but then he can't help but see it: a long, thin cock, almost pointed at the end, glistening as it slides out of its sheathe. It's flushed dark-pink with blood and straining forward, and Sirius feels abruptly out of his depth.

He's sucked boys off before and given them hand-jobs. Been fucked before. Been hurt before, and liked it too. But this is new territory. And though James is with him, there's not that low voice at his shoulder telling him to stop wussing around and to get a move on. James is with him, but he isn't, all in the same second. 

It's not that the stag's cock is worryingly thick, but it's so long. It'll go halfway down his throat and he'll choke on it and he'll be face-fucked to death by a stag and that's how everyone will remember him… 

Prongs snorts again, his back legs shifting and Sirius instinctively lays his palm against his hindquarters to steady himself and settle it.

"Shh, you daft thing. Don't trample me," he tells him, trying to sound stern. 

Prongs does as he is told, and Sirius's gaze snaps to his face. He's perfectly still but pointedly not looking at him. Prongs has done as Sirius has told him, but won't acknowledge it by meeting his eyes. Sirius bites his lip to quell a mad laugh: that's James, alright. 

In his hand, as he tentatively touches it, the cock is not all that different to what he's known before. It's maybe a little thinner, but it's hard and heavy with arousal. He smears his thumb over the head of the cock and Prongs shudders like a gust of wind. Hesitating, he brings his thumb to his mouth and his tongue darts out to lick the pad of his thumb, where it's slippery and wet with pre-come.

It doesn't taste any better than he's used to, but not worse either. Just different, he thinks as he sucks the taste away.

Feeling braver with this reassurance, Sirius takes a firmer grip of the stag's cock, pulling it towards his mouth. Prongs stamps impatiently and Sirius is smiling as he opens his mouth to the cockhead. He closes his lips about the girth of it, feeling it slick and hard in his mouth. A shiver goes through the stag, as if every muscle trembles and stills. 

It's James in his mouth and it's a beast and it's both and it's fucking fantastic. It's how to be unspeakably dirty and cosy all at once. A stag's cock and his best friend's cock and sheer brilliance. Sirius sucks on his mouthful then swirls his tongue about the head before sliding along the underside. It's thin enough that he can work it how he wants, even if ducking his head like this is a touch awkward. 

And Prongs is snorting and fidgeting. Sirius burrows his fingers into the fur his hand's resting against, the gentle stroking becoming a tighter grip. His legs are starting to go numb from the uncomfortable position into which he's bent them, the floorboards hard against his knees, but the churning weight of arousal that's settled in his belly overwhelms the discomfort.

Two of the ultimate taboos: James and bestiality, and Sirius is wallowing in a toothless version of both. He's on his knees, feeding the stag's long, slippery cock into his mouth with obscene slurping; anyone could walk in and see what he's doing. Sirius doesn't care.

He noses a little closer, feelings Prongs' prick nudge the back of his throat. He could, he could take it. He could have it right down his throat if he wanted.

His eyes flutter shut for the first time, blocking out everything but the cock pushing deeper into him, and the warm jerking fur beneath his hand. He wraps his other hand around the length of the cock that's not in his mouth, stroking from his stretched lips down to the furry base, squeezing teasingly at the root.

He'd love to touch himself too. He's hard and he can feel it pressing against the zip of his trousers, stiff and crying out for attention.

But Prongs' hips are shunting forward, bucking towards Sirius's mouth and he daren't let go. The weight of the animal is already pushing him backwards as Prongs blindly tries to mount whatever it is he's fucking. Sirius wonders if his spine will snap under the assault and the thought makes him want to laugh, but he's too full of the stag.

Prongs isn't passively accepting the attention anymore, he's fucking back, his cock plunging wetly into the tightness of Sirius' throat. He's making such beautiful noises: grunts and rumbles and whimpers that are thick with base sexuality.

All Sirius can do is take it, the slick slap of his hand up and down the stag's cock crashing in his ears. Helplessly, he wriggles his hips, searching for anything to relieve the growing pressure in his cock that makes his whole skin prickle and his face taut with desire.

But Prongs is demanding all of him, desperate and insistent, the need to come overriding any control to which James may have been trying to cling. It's a little like dying, and a lot like choking when Sirius feels the stag start to come in long, hot spurts down his throat. Hungry to taste it, he pulls back enough to catch it greedily on his tongue, his throat sore but not enough to dampen his mad, filthy exhilaration.

The fluid is greasy and distinctly salty, and Sirius can feel it dribbling from the corners of his mouth as a manic smile curves his lips while the stag keeps on pumping his hips, making those high, frantic noises that could have as easily passed as distress as climax.

Gradually, Prongs stills, trembles running through it as Sirius rocks back, the softening cock slipping from his mouth with a thick, moist sound. He laps up the trickles of come that are running down his chin, but his tongue can't reach it all and it's rolling in hot, sluggish lines down his throat and over his collarbone.

With perfect grace, Prongs' legs fold beneath himself and Sirius crawls closer to tangle himself in the strong legs and push against the furry, heaving belly. He jerks his hips needily, rubbing shamelessly against the stag and coming with a sound that is half-moan, half-shriek.

His own come seeps into his trouser, sticky and scratchy, but Sirius barely notices. His shaking hands are moving over Prongs and he's mouthing small, sucking kisses along the tines of Prongs' antlers as they both shiver in the wake of orgasm. 

"James," he whispers into the fur that brushes his swollen lips.

The change is absolute from beast to boy, but somehow Sirius is still in James's arms, his head cradled against James's chest, feeling the waves of his breathing.

"Kiss me," he says, tilting his head up to James, whose eyes dart from the ceiling to look at him. There's warmth in them, but fear too, fear of this new land they've stumbled upon.

"Not with _that_ mouth," he teases.

Sirius doesn't move, thinking, then he surges upwards and crushes their lips together. He opens his mouth to James's tongue, feeling it glide alongside his, tasting his Other self in Sirius.

"Yes," Sirius tells him, breaking the kiss but staying so close they're sharing breath. " _This_ mouth. "

END


End file.
